


off-day but it's live in front of 70k viewers

by qar



Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [8]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Dynamics, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, IRL Fic, Malnutrition, Platonic Relationships, Rain, Sickfic, and it's the exact same as the last, another sickfic!, my tag!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qar/pseuds/qar
Summary: Tommy's sick again. Maybe you can blame him this time. Wilbur doesn't, though, because he's a great big brother.Disclaimer:If any of the creators mention they are uncomfortable with these types of fics I will take this down.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: [qar]noor's collection of soft fics [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961299
Comments: 61
Kudos: 2138





	off-day but it's live in front of 70k viewers

**Author's Note:**

> LILLIAN_NATOR THIS IS FOR YOU . I AM SO SO TIRED. ALSO L, LIKE THE LETTER, YOU ARE JUST . JUST SO GOOD . I LOVE YOU. it is 3:30 am L thank you so fucking much alkskjd

It’s fucking raining again.

Tommy’s walking home from the store, bag in hand, when he feels the first drops of rain hit his shoulders. The sky has been heavy and dark for the last few days, sending the people of Brighton scrambling for their rain gear; and now he can see people around him pull out umbrellas and shrug on raincoats, he watches children dart onto front porches wearing rubber boots, excited as ever for the change in the dreary, dull atmosphere.

Tommy pulls his jacket even closer around him. It was the one day he hadn’t bothered to bring a raincoat; or even an umbrella, like his mum had told him to before leaving- and it was the one day it rained. He holds the bag closer to his chest to try and stop the groceries from getting wet. The milk haphazardly sloshes against its container, and Tommy absent-mindedly shifts his weight to accommodate it.

To be fair, it is pleasant weather. It isn’t overly windy; rather, the rain falls straight down, not blown to the side by harsh gusts of air like it usually is. It’s also not heavy, like Britain’s rain is known to be. It’s light, and Tommy can count the drops of water that fall on his shoulders, and in his hair, he can feel them soaking in.

It’s nice, and for once in his life, Tommy actually wants to stay outside and bask in the rainfall. Instead, though, he thinks about the things he has to do tonight; he has an assignment due in an hour, that he’s barely started, and a stream to start at 7. He decides to increase his pace slightly, sneakers messily hitting muddy water, and makes his way home.

Home is only a block away, and he’s glad he’s finally remembered his new address; the new house blended in perfectly with all the others around it, and he’s tried to enter the wrong house more than once. He liked the monotony, though; it was like a sense of normalcy in his otherwise decidedly abnormal life. 

Tommy makes his way up the stairs and onto the porch, dripping water on the way up, and kicks off his muddy shoes before opening the door with his spare key, holding the groceries precariously with a hand.

It’s only when he puts the bag down and stretches that he realises he’s absolutely soaked; he’d taken his time ambling over, and what was deceptively light rain has water-logged his jacket and the shirt underneath it. His thoughts however, were interrupted, when Tommy realises that he’s still got to submit that near-due assignment, so he resolves to change later and makes his way up the stairs quickly.

The assignment itself is surprisingly easy for one worth so much of his grade, and, with the help of Google and old messages from friends, he submits it a few minutes before the deadline. He’s still in his soaked clothes, and his chair is now wet from where he’d dropped down, rushed, to start on his work. His bedroom, however, feels like a stark contrast to what he’s wearing; his clothes have gotten cold, and strangely stiff; while the air around him feels warm and comfortable. He should get up, he thinks, dropping his head into his arms. Tommy _should_ go down and put away the groceries, and get ready for his stream in a few hours, and maybe dry off.

It’s so warm in his room, though, even through the layers of damp clothing that are quickly getting more and more uncomfortable. And he’s realized that he’s too tired to move, and his eyes are starting to close slowly, so he lets them.

~~~

Tommy awakes to the loud ringing of his phone’s alarm. He quickly realizes that he’s sat, uncomfortable, in a vaguely damp chair in extremely soggy clothes, and he’s realized that it’s fucking freezing - no longer feeling the warmth that the dimly lit atmosphere brought him mere hours before. 

His jeans are frozen stiff like they’d been starched, crumpled painfully around his knees. His shirt is stuck to his body like glue, curling around each of his ribs individually, and wrapped tightly around his bicep. However, although the rest of Tommy’s clothes are near-dry, and excruciating stiff at the same time, his socks seem to be soft, soaked, and almost-mushy, in the way that wet socks are. It’s uncomfortable, he thinks, he knew he should’ve changed earlier. He doesn’t regret his brief nap, though, because he feels more awake than he had earlier- even if it left his brain strangely fuzzy, sitting here in damp clothes. 

He listens to the quiet chimes of the alarm absently for a minute, head feeling like it’s stuffed with cotton, before realising what the alarm ringing means. _Fuck, he’s late to start his stream—_

Tommy stands up abruptly and strips out of the stiff, frozen clothing, pulling a warm pair of jeans and a hoodie on, feeling abnormally cold and strangely dizzy— then tumbles back into his chair gracelessly and opens up OBS and Twitch. He’s ten minutes late already, and so he opened up Dream’s SMP, the quickest to set up while streaming. He sets a title— “MASSIVE MAN HUGE MAN LARGE MAN IS HERE”— and starts it.

“SUP CHAT!”

_hoodieinnit_

_tommy pog_

_SUP CHAT_

_wheres the coke_

_HES LATE_

He starts playing the Abel Sisters Theme, absently humming along as he usually does, and starts to set up what he hadn’t already.

“I know, I know, I’m late. And I have no coke. And I’m wearing a hoodie- Jesus, it’s like every time I wear something that isn’t a t-shirt you all freak out.”

_Hoodieinnit_

_LATE -------- >_

_he does not have de drugs_

_SBI??_

Tommy stretches slightly, adjusting his mic. “Sorry for being late, boys,” he says. “I was at the shops earlier, and it started raining while I was walking home, but I had an assignment due within like an hour so I didn’t bother to change and then I fell asleep. It has been- it’s been a day, boys.”

_why is he so incoherent asjkld_

_HOODIEINIT_

_wheres coke_

_Aw, I hope your day gets better_

_aaha what if he’s sick_

_HOODIE POG_

_What was the assignment_

“The assignment? It was- uh, film, I think. Essay about a film. Very boring. Extremely boring.” 

He waits for a few more minutes, making small talk with his chat and fiddling with settings. He messages Techno to see if he wants to join later; the man sends an affirmative. Tommy opens Twitter.

“I don’t understand how I ratioed GeorgeNotFound,” he says, out of the blue, waving his phone slightly. “You all need to have some more respect-”

He rambles on for a while, opening up Minecraft and clicking on Dream’s SMP, logging in to his sad little base with his sad little storage. 

_DREAM SMP POG_

_Hpopdieinnit_

_GREOGE NOT FOUND_

_TWEET SOMTHING_

_I cant believe he’s friends with georgenotfound holy shit_

_TWEET_

“What, you want me to tweet something?” Tommy barks a laugh, leaning back in his chair and holding his phone up. “What should I tweet, chat?”

_Women_

_TWEET WILBUR TELL HIM TO JOIN VC_

_tweet how much you appreciate your fans_

_hoodie innit omg_

_WOMAN_

_Why is he considering this haha_

“You all have.. terrible ideas.” Tommy says. “Absolutely terrible. I expected better from you all.” He types something into his phone, rubs his forehead, and looks up at the sound of someone joining his voice call. “Hello, Wilbur Soot.”

“Hello, TommyInnit,” Wilbur Soot replies. “I saw you started streaming. You’re twenty minutes late.”

“Ha,” Tommy says emphatically. “I fell asleep. You’re the one who always tells me to sleep more.”

“Well, that’s when you’re messaging me at four in the morning, Tommy.”

“And here I am, taking a little nap, and you judge me.”

“I’m not judging you, you brat,” Wilbur says. “Why is your hair like that?”

“And there you are, judging me.” Tommy looks at his mirror image on his second monitor. His blonde hair is sticking up in many directions- he probably should’ve tamed it when he woke up. It’s a wild mixture of bedhead and wet-hair-that’s-dried. Tommy ignores this, and presses it down slightly. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s pretty bad, Tommy, it’s like you got another haircut.” 

Tommy splutters. “The haircut wasn’t even that bad! And besides, I forgot to dry my hair before I fell asleep. I forgot to dry a lotta me before I fell asleep. I’m still kind of damp, Wilbur Soot, how the fuck am I meant to dry a chair?”

“Blow dryer,” Wilbur says automatically. “Why didn’t you dry off?”

_Big bro wilbs_

_Hodieinnit_

_omg hes sick or high bet_

_\----- > high_

_!runtime_

_HAHA LOOK HE TWEETED_

“I had an assignment, Wilbur, I talked about this earlier.”

“What was the assignment?”

“Jesus Christ, man, go check the VOD,” Tommy says, vaguely amused.

“I’m not checking your VOD, Tommy,” Wilbur replies. “I heard The Blade’s gonna be joining you.”

“He will."

“Then I will take my leave,” Wilbur says. “Phil is streaming. Phil is better than you.”

“Fuck you,” Tommy replies. “I get more viewers.”

“Aw, Tommy, if you wanted me to stay you could’ve just said.”

“No, fuck you,” Tommy says. “I am removing you from this call.” He does so. There’s a sudden quiet.

_HAHA_

_clingyinit_

_Hello_

_Tommy looks very soft today alksjd_

_NO WILBRU_

“Don’t worry, chat, Techno’s joining soon.”

He plays for a while, and it’s a quiet stream; there’s no loud shouting, or Hamilton-esque roleplay, or Tubbo-Bath-Water sales, instead just Tommy, wandering around aimlessly and talking, also aimlessly. His head’s gotten more fuzzy over time, and people have definitely noticed.

_I just joined is he high_

_LOOK AT THE TWEET_

_why is he spacing off omg_

_guys i think hes sick not high_

_Hoooidieinnt_

_HES HIGH BET_

“Hello, Technoblade,” Tommy says, ignoring the chat. He looks and sounds perfectly fine. He doesn’t know what they’re on about.

“Hullo,” Techno replies. “Why’d you tweet, I quote, _‘i am not a simp. iwouldneversimpforanyone._ ’”

Tommy pauses. He isn’t sure why he posted that. “It’s huge brain things, Technoblade, I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Of course,” Techno replies. “Huge brain things. Only intellectuals-”

“Only intellectuals,” Tommy agrees fervently. “Only intellectuals.”

They play for a while; Tommy has nothing planned for the stream, having woken up ten minutes late- so he makes up some random, incomprehensible scamming scheme like he does when he’s short on time. It works- well, like it always does. 

“You just- you put a diamond in here, and you get-”

“It literally says ‘scam’, Tommy.”

“AVERT YOUR EYES!” Tommy snaps. “These words were— I— these were for me in my, my language. For my brain only.”

“Tommy— Tommy, are you high?” Techno asks, huffing an incredulous laugh. “Why are you so incoherent today?”

“What the fuck!” Tommy exclaims. “I am— _perfectly_ coherent, thank you, the most coherent, I am— I am— reaching levels of, I—” A cough interrupts him, which is _rude,_ but some part of him vaguely thinks _thank god, what the fuck was I saying?_

_Highinnit_

_TOMY HOODIE_

_OH MY GOD IS HE DRUNK??_

_this is not TOS im going tocomplain to phil_

“I am not drunk. Or high,” Tommy says. “I am a minor. Every single one of you is going to jail for saying that.”

“T-Tommy, you aren’t sending seventy thousand people to jail, Tommy,” Techno says, still in fits of laughter. 

“Watch me, bitch,” Tommy says. “Anyone who is watching. Go commit a felony.”

“Don’t commit a felony!” Techno gasps, out of breath. “Tommy, they’re— they’re actually going to kill someone.”

“Let them,” Tommy replies. “My men— my, my people. My minions. Of all genders. Go murder.”

“What the fuck have I walked in on?” Wilbur asks. Tommy jumps.

“Nothing!” The two of them snap simultaneously.

“We have been sitting here, Wilbur,” Tommy says. “Sitting in a nice, peaceful silence before you came in and _swore_.”

Techno coughs suspiciously. Tommy coughs a second later, loud and congested. When he’s finished, the two older men are sitting in a concerned silence. “I’m fine, shut up.”

“If you say so,” Wilbur says doubtfully.

“Yes, Wilbur, I am perfectly fine and very healthy, and— oh fuck, is that a _cow_?”

“He’s worse than me when I haven’t had my meds,” Techno says. “Get him to stop streaming.”

“-and Tubbo sent me these really cute pictures of cows, and they were like- weirdly fluffy and cute? But then I realised I had a cow for lunch and I didn’t cry about it.”

“He cried about it,” Wilbur says, sounding muffled. “Tommy, can you close your stream?”

“No,” Tommy says, removing Wilbur from the call. “Fuck you."

“Oh,” Techno says. “Oh no.”

“C’mon, Technoblade, I can’t scam you but you can help me scam others,” Tommy says, making his character move towards the Prime Path. “I think Awsamdude’s on.”

“Oh my god, am I on babysitting duty?” Techno asks imploringly. “Tommy, did you say both your parents weren’t home?”

“Yeah,” Tommy replies. “And what about it?”

“For the love of god, please close your stream.”

“I’ll remove you too, asshole,” Tommy threatens. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“God, as wonderful as that sounds— the other would kill me if I just left you here.”

“Techno, walk down the Prime Path or I will slaughter you.”

There’s a couple more minutes of strange, incoherent talk- the incoherent is mostly on Tommy’s behalf, if he’s being honest- before both of their characters are standing together in Tommy’s base. Techno’s pig skin seems to be looking around nervously. Tommy’s trying his best not to burst into hysterics watching it.

“Tommy, it’s been like ten minutes, end your stream please,” Techno says, sounding defeated. 

“I have Definitely Not Penis,” Tommy says. There’s a donation. 

_tommyinnit high on stream what will he do_

“I am not fucking high!” Tommy snaps, and for some reason the energy taken to say that leaves his head spinning. “Techno, I think I’m dying.” Yeah, he’s getting really lightheaded now.

“What?” Techno asks. Tommy feels himself tip out of his chair. “What’d you say?”

_thump_

“Oh my god, did he just fall out of his chair??” Techno’s frantic voice echoes through his ears. He’s on the floor now, cheek pressed against rough carpet. “Wait- let me open his stream- Holy shit, he just died.”

“I didn’t die..” Tommy slurs, voice barely catching on the mic. “Bitch.”

“I cannot believe this child,” says Techno, sounding vaguely amused and very horrified.

Tommy blinks slowly for a moment, listening to the older man’s voice slowly fade out into static as his head goes even more fuzzy. His vision goes black as he hears someone open his door faintly, before his eyes shut.

~~~

 **TommyInnit** @tommyinnit . 20m

I am not a simp . iwoudlneversimpforanyone/.

~~~

Wilbur realises something is wrong when Phil gets about twenty donations at once saying that Tommy’s high.

“What?” Phil laughs incredulously, after the fifth dono plays. “Has he really? He wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, no, he wouldn’t,” Wilbur says. “He’s very careful about the rules.”

“Yeah, bro, he’ll ask me a million times if something’s okay to do on streams. He’d never touch drugs, let alone be high on stream."

“The amount of times he asked me what he did wrong after the Lennon jokes- it was a lot. He’s a good kid.”

Another donation rolls in. Phil furrows his eyebrows as the little robotic voice speaks. “Wilbur, you should probably go check on him. I need to go to that appointment.”

“You finish up, Phil,” Wilbur says. “I’ll go deal with the child. I bet he’s sick- he said he didn’t dry off after walking home in the rain.”

“Oh, fuck,” Phil says, saving his game. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Wilbur replies, and leaves the voice call.

He navigates Discord slowly to where Tommy and Techno are in a call, their icons lighting up green, and hesitates to click it. Tommy’d kicked him earlier, but he’d sent him an invite to join back. He’d probably do so again.

He opens up Tommy’s stream on another tab; the teenager is wandering around the Dream SMP with no clear goal- that much is obvious- and Techno’s humoring him with quiet exasperation, an almost unnoticeable undertone of worry in his voice.

Wilbur can understand why. They’re talking about murder and felonies; Techno sounds kind of horrified, in a holy-shit-this-child kind of way, and Tommy really just sounds high, drunk or very, very sick, like Wilbur’s seen him once before. Only- that time he’d just been exhausted, and clingy, and had seemed very, very small when Phil’d driven them to the hospital. Now, he seemed delirious and stubborn. As he usually was.

“What the fuck have I walked in on?” Wilbur says, watching Tommy jump on his stream as Wilbur joins the call on his phone.

“Nothing!” Tommy and Techno say, sounding vaguely nervous- one more than the other. Tommy continues.

“We have been sitting here, Wilbur,” he says. “Sitting in a nice, peaceful silence before you came in and swore.” The teenager then descends into a painful coughing fit. Wilbur stands up, grabbing his wallet and keys and sliding them into his bag.

“If you say so,” he says, closing his PC and picking up his stuff and a thermos of coffee he’d brought for later.

“Yes, Wilbur, I am perfectly fine and very healthy, and— oh fuck, is that a cow?”

“He’s worse than me when I haven’t had my meds,” Techno says. “Get him to stop streaming.”

“He cried about it,” Wilbur confirms over Tommy rambling, kicking open his office door and stepping out into the cool, heavy air. “Tommy, can you close your stream?”

“No,” Tommy says. His phone goes silent, and Wilbur sighs, sliding into his car and putting his phone precariously on the dash. 

The rain has gathered on the windshield, and Wilbur watches it get wiped away as he buckles himself into the seat and turns on the heater. There’s an umbrella in the back, as well as blankets he kept there for emergencies. He’d probably need the umbrella soon; the sky had begun to gray out again, and he can see passersby open up their umbrella, holding them in preparation for the drizzle that’d inevitably begin. The last time he’d been in this situation he’d been in Phil’s minivan, the older man driving towards Tommy’s house with what could only be described as reckless abandon. The time before that, he’d picked Tommy up from school, and that day had been rainy and comfortable. Today, it was just Wilbur. 

The drive to Tommy’s house is relatively short, and by the time he makes it there it’s pouring heavily; so heavily that Wilbur can barely see past the glass of his windshield, and the cars in the street slow down to avoid hitting each other. 

Tommy’s house’s address is imprinted in his mind, and he opens his umbrella before shifting his legs out of the car, wincing at the squelch of mud under his boots. The streets are filled with water, and Wilbur spares the area around him a look before ducking under the umbrella and carefully sprinting up to the porch, making sure not to slip.

Wilbur rings the doorbell first, before realising that it’s  _ Tommy  _ and Tommy wouldn’t let the sound of doorbells interrupt his streams; so he grabs the extra key that’s in the flowerpot for Tommy and lets himself in. He kicks his shoes off next to Tommy’s discarded sneakers and closes the door behind him.

The house is dimly lit, and there’s groceries left on the counter, and a bottle of milk on a couch; Wilbur picks it up carefully and tucks it in the fridge, which is- also almost bare; most of the food is in the grocery bag. He’s about to start putting it into the fridge when he hears a crash; he remembers why he’s here and darts for the stairs.

Tommy’s bedroom is the first door to the right, and covered with ancient little stickers and scribbles. Wilbur throws it open to see both Tommy on the floor and himself on camera.

“Hi,” Wilbur says, stretching the i out. “Hey, chat, Tommy just fucking died,” he says shortly, crossing over the room in a few long strides. “I’m joking. He’s probably fine. I’ll keep you updated. Bye.” 

_ End Stream _

Wilbur ducks down and wraps his hands under Tommy’s knees and around his shoulders, hoisting him up with relative ease and tucking the lanky teenager into himself before sitting down in the chair. It is, indeed, damp.

He plucks the headphones from Tommy’s blond hair, settling them over his own, and starts fussing over the boy. His skin is too cool to touch, and either too blotchy or too pale; Wilbur pulls him higher so he doesn’t slide off and speaks. “Techno?”

“Wilbur, is he actually high off his ass or just sick.”

“Just sick,” Wilbur says. “I think I should take him to the hospital. I mean- it doesn’t seem too bad, but..”

“But?”

“He’s really light,” Wilbur says slowly. “And he obviously hasn’t been taking good care of himself. And he’s looked kinda weak recently- I mean, I thought it was the lighting change.”

Techno doesn’t say anything for a second. “Take him to the hospital, then. Malnutrition paired with being sick can be dangerous.”

“I will,” Wilbur says. “I’ll message you in a bit.”

“I’ll keep Phil updated,” Techno replies. Wilbur taps the disconnect button, and watches Tommy’s icon leave the voice call, Techno’s following right after.

He stands up carefully, trying not to jostle Tommy, and makes his way out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He’s about to make his way down the stairs with an abundance of caution when a hand weakly pushes against his chest. 

“Let me down,” Tommy mutters. “‘m not high.”

“I know you aren’t,” Wilbur says. “C’mon.”

He hooks Tommy’s arms around his neck, and despite his quiet protests Tommy hangs on for dear life as Wilbur makes his way down. He passes the kitchen counter, with all it’s groceries, and reminds himself that he has to give the kid a talk about taking care of himself when he isn’t so weak.

It’s still raining outside, and Wilbur deposits Tommy on a couch to go and retrieve their shoes. He slips his feet into his boots and picks up Tommy’s sneakers; the mud has dried, and he bangs them against the wall and watches the dirt flake off. 

Tommy’s pulled himself into a sitting position and blinks blearily at him when he approaches, dirty blonde hair obscuring his eyes. “Wilbur,” he says. “I’m not high or drunk or sick.”

“I really doubt that last one,” Wilbur says, dropping to his knees and grabbing Tommy’s leg. “Put these on.”

“‘ll do it myself,” Tommy grumbles, leaning forwards. Wilbur pushes him back by the forehead as he slowly tips over; he can practically see the waves of dizziness hitting the kid.

“Sit back,” Wilbur says gently. “We’re going to the hospital again, alright?” He ties one shoe’s laces, and moves to the next. “You need to take care of yourself better.”

“I tried,” Tommy says quietly, leaning forwards again. Wilbur moves higher so he can catch Tommy’s chin. “I went to get groceries today.”

“And what did you eat before that?”

No reply. Wilbur lets out a quiet sigh, hooking a large hand under Tommy’s knees again and lifting him up. Tommy buries his face into the neck of Wilbur’s sweater, and Wilbur gently pulls his hair back. “You gotta take better care of yourself, Toms. Or ask for help if you’re struggling.”

He carries them to the front door, standing on the porch and watching the rain fall. He grabs the umbrella he’d dropped at the door and firmly jams it between his arm and Tommy so it’s covering them both, and carefully makes his way down the stairs.

The ride to the hospital is surprisingly quiet in a nice way; it reminds Wilbur of that time he’d picked Tommy up in the rain, the boy ducking into the car, soaked and laughing. It’s quieter now, though, and when Wilbur adjusts the rear-view mirror he can see the reflections of the city lights in Tommy’s glazed blue eyes.

Tommy insists on walking when they reach the emergency room, and Wilbur wraps an arm around him so he doesn’t fall over more than he already has today. The teenager is forced into a little cubicle with a little white bed, and Wilbur sits in the little white chair and holds his hand when the nurse sticks an IV into Tommy’s arm.

Wilbur decides to ring Techno and Tommy’s parents while Tommy is sleeping to update them. Techno is concerned but relieved, and, through many awkward chuckles and relieved noises, says he’ll help Tommy do damage control for the fans, which Wilbur is glad for. Tommy’s parents are chastised; this situation happens too often- Tommy, ill in the hospital with little to no support, with his parents out of town. Wilbur bites his tongue on his anger when he hears Tommy’s mother’s upset.

Finally, a few hours later, Tommy wakes up. The drugs seem to have made him relatively more lucid, so Wilbur decides now is as good a time as any to confront him about his lack of self-care.

“So, Tommy,” Wilbur starts. Tommy turns to look at him hesitantly, as if he knows what’s coming. 

“Yeah, Wil?” Tommy’s throat is still hoarse, and Wilbur winces. This isn’t going to be easy. “You aren’t giving me the talk, are you?"

“Not that one, Tommy.” Wilbur smiles slightly, then sighs. “Man, you’ve- you’ve got to take better care of yourself.”

Tommy looks down at his hands. They’re covered in little bandages and marks from where the IVs had been. “I know.”

“I mean, this is- this can’t be how it is. You’re barely eating, you’re not sleeping enough. You’re in the hospital because you walked home alone in the rain, for god’s sake.” He pauses. Tommy still won’t look at him. “Why- what’s going on with you? Are you okay?”

Tommy twists his fingers together and makes a non-committal hum. Wilbur frowns.

“Is it streaming? ‘Cause, Tommy, you can take a break for a while. I’m sure your fans will understand, you won’t be hurting anybody but yourself if you continue.”

“It’s not that.” Tommy says, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Listen, you- you know what the therapist said.”

“I know,” Wilbur confirms.

“And like- that I’m.” Tommy waves a hand. “You know.”

“Yeah,” Wilbur says, gently, trying not to cause Tommy any further distress. Tommy seems encouraged.

“Well- you know that I love streaming. Like, a lot. It’s always been my dream- and now that I get to do it constantly, I- I get too into it, you know? Like, my schedule’s to wake up, edit, stream and sleep. I- I forget to eat a lot. And a lotta other things. Like yesterday I opened the fridge and I realised that I’d forgotten to get any groceries. I was supposed to do that two days ago.” Tommy sighs. “It makes me happy, Wilbur, and I- I like that too much.”

Wilbur’s heart twists. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be happy, Tommy,” he says quietly. “It’s good that you have something that makes you happy. You just need to find a good balance. And stop staying alone so often- I can talk to your parents about that.” 

Relief flashes over Tommy’s face for a split second, and he leans back into the white sheets of the bed. “That’d be nice,” he murmurs. “Thank you, Wil.”

His eyes close, apparently involuntarily. Wilbur has more to say to him, but the boy’s fallen asleep within seconds- and Wilbur reminds himself that he has to talk to him more later, and squeezes the teenager’s hand and pulls out his phone.

~~~

**Wilbur Soot** @wilbursoot . 20m

Tommy is fine stop freaking out

~~~

**TommyInnit** @tommyinnit . 1m

Tommy in the hospital what will he do

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm too tired for a very long note, so here's the Discord link if you'd like to join (it's very pleasant): https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm  
> (just copy paste it into a browser)
> 
> And don't forget to follow me on Instagram @qarraqar and my (newly made) tumblr, @noorahqar!! Also, kudos, comments and bookmarks are always appreciated :) Stay safe everybody <3
> 
> also like the doc for this was so fucking chaotic it's 30 PAGES LONG


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